i dig my thumbnail into the top of a tangerine / peeling back the skin in endless coils / the juice bursts fragrant and sweet across my skin / almost floral, like springtime / sitting cross-legged on the grass / as i segment the orange into quarters and give you every other one / you don’t say anything, but you smile at me / and it’s radiant
the sound of rain against pavement is a beating heart / and each inhale brings / the scent of petrichor and freshly-turned earth / it’s funny / because i hate getting wet / but sometimes i stand next to you beneath the library awning / and wish you hadn’t brought an umbrella / i long to be drenched / to tilt my face up to the sky / like a prayer / to blink away the water droplets clinging to my lashes
there are some things that feel instinctive / etched into my bones / like when your face looks a little too flushed / and i touch your forehead with the back of my hand to see if you have a fever / your skin warm against mine / soft and vulnerable / in the way an exposed belly is / the intimacy nearly overwhelms me / and i linger for perhaps a moment too long
it’s almost midnight by the time i’m walking home / but the moon hangs suspended in the sky / luminescent and whole / an ivory plate against an inky-blue backdrop / i stop to take a photo even though i know it could never do the real thing justice / zoomed in, hazy edges / the craters of the moon illuminated by its own reflection / across the street, a boy in a green raincoat stops to do the same
i run my fingers over the worn designs of the clay pot / the vines winding around the handles / blossoming at the center / the residual heat of the stove threatens to scorch me / as i wait for the broth to boil / one spoonful of oyster sauce / two pinches of sugar / a handful of scallions / i call for you to come taste the soup / and we share a glance, warm and pleased, over the steaming ladle
you keep telling me to stop laughing / but i can’t help but think / what a sight we must make / fumbling like idiots in the dark / trying to figure out which side of the pajama pants has the tag / and too stubborn to turn on the lamp / my elbow digs into your sternum / clumsy, inelegant / the streetlights outside just barely illuminate your silhouette / the curve of your jaw / your hands as they button up my shirt
the left wheel of the shopping cart skitters sideways / fluorescent lights bathe linoleum floors / i get to experience the small joys of checking things off a list / finding yogurt on sale / standing in the produce section / it’s february and yet i hold a ripe mango in one hand / sunset-colored and golden / a plastic mesh bag of tangerines in the other / once again, my first thought is to ask if you like picnics
